The wridech of wild park

Well, here I am. 2 A.M on a damn school night. Lying in bed, unable to sleep again, on my laptop, writing this. I'm writing to get my story out, to let someone know what happened. Because lord knows I can't speak about this to anyone around here. I live in a small-ish town situated directly on the 'nose', if you will, of Iowa, where the Mississippi bends back towards the center of the states. I'm not going to give the name of the town. However, If you want to do some research, I'm not going to stop you. There is a park located on the edge of the town. It's pretty popular. There are a lot of houses there, a small kid's area, an aquatic center, some tennis courts, bike trails, and the Community College campus. Flowers are abundant in the park, and the city takes good care to make sure the display of colorful and well-kempt flowers stay that way. There is also the husk of what used to be a zoo, which housed an array of animals, from cobras to monkeys. This park has always been a big part of the community, and there are several well-known structures in the area, which are used or mentioned in some way or another. Which is strange why no one ever talks about the bandstand. The bandstand is a large stone gazebo fixed on the very edge of the main flat, which is used for nothing. Nothing ever happens there. No bands play. They used to, but not anymore. It's about 8 feet in height where the ground is the highest up around it, 20 feet across in any given direction, and octagonal in shape. There is a cone-like roof over the top of the structure. When I said that the bandstand gets no use, it may have been a slight exaggeration. Every so often a group of stoners or just some kids will drag a park bench over, hop on top of it, and crawl up into the thing. I've been up there myself, as a group of friends and I often parkour, and it is a prime site. We've become pros at getting up into it without the assistance of park benches. There isn't much up there. Usually it is filled with faded chalk writings from previous groups of teenagers, who also leave the box behind for the next group to leave their mark. But, that's it. No officials ever use the place. The gothic-style gate to the entry stairs is chained and locked with an old-style iron lock. It's rusty and dingy. When you are up in the bandstand, you can go down the stairs. They gently wind down around the center structure. When you reach the bottom, you can look out at your friends or whatever dumb shit you may be doing with a gate. But, at the end of the landing platform, to your left if you are looking out, is a door. The door is solid iron. Or steel, fuck, I don't know. Metal. Solid, hard, cold, black metal. It's about 5 feet tall, rather short. It is chained several times over. It's locked with the same old gothic lock as on the gate. It appears to not have been opened for 60 years. There is rust, spider webs, dust, and all manners of grime and disgustingness covering it. I've never seen or heard about anyone using this door for anything. It's just... There. Peeking, staring out from the gate into the open, forlorn. The first real encounter I had with this door was during a film project I was working on. At the time, I was a junior in high school. It was for an art scholarship. I had decided after many failed comedy scripts to make it a horror short film, a generic slasher/stalker/silent-scary-guy-moving-when-you-aren't-looking film. The antagonist was named 'Reaves', a man whose face was terribly scarred and who wore a dark grey business coat with a hoodie underneath. I made the prosthetic mask and provided the costuming. It was an extremely low-budget film, but it was sort of meant to be. It was first person, 'Blair Witch' style, probably a bad call. The center of the story was this door. This black, solid metal door that never moves, that is rarely looked upon, that is hardly recalled in even the most stoic of memories. Reaves emerges from the door to wreak havoc on the group of teenage filmers meddling with a power beyond their comprehension. The film never went anywhere. I s